


goodbye to my troubles

by gayprophets



Series: ménage à trois [1]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol, Drinking, Drinking & Talking, Friendship, Humor, LGBTQ Themes, LITERALLY just ppl talking about being gay for 2k words, Pre-Canon, Set in 1995-2000, are you REALLY friends if you don't consider having sex at LEAST once?, the timeline doesnt matter., top gun IS a gay movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 18:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19774195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayprophets/pseuds/gayprophets
Summary: “Sylvain’s got gay folks, right?” Thacker asks Barclay.“Tell him what gay people are, first off,” Mama tells Thacker, leaning back in her chair. “See Thacker? That’s what a gay person is.”-Mama, Barclay, and Thacker all sit and shoot the shit, but like, in a gay way, and become better friends in the process.





	goodbye to my troubles

**Author's Note:**

> there's use of a few slurs (towards gay people) in here, used in a reclaimed, joking manner. it's all fun and games here, and homophobia doesn't exist.  
> Alternate titles:  
> \- just a couplea dudes bein' gay (show me your di-)  
> \- a few brethren existing homosexually  
> \- margaritaville  
> \- how to smash puss like the frat star you are: getting your rocks off without looking like a total geed

“Sylvain’s got gay folks, right?” Thacker asks Barclay.

They’re a few drinks in, still buzzing with adrenaline from killing the latest abomination. This one was easy, almost - a formless, housecat sized wispy figure that hid in the shadows and sucked blood like a mosquito, easy enough solution was to drag it into the light and pin it there until it burned away. Mama’s a bit tired and drained from being used as bait, sure, and the back of her neck is a little sore, itching from the off-colored bandaid, and maybe she shouldn’t be drinking because who knows how much blood she’s missing, but the ease of the kill is melting their edginess into an easy camaraderie. She’s happy shooting the shit in her apartment’s kitchen. She pours some more of their mostly flat bottle of coca-cola into her rum, because she hates rum, and this is _truly_ awful rum to be drinking. 

“Tell him what gay people are, first off,” Mama tells Thacker, leaning back in her chair. “See Thacker? That’s what a gay person is.”

“Oh, fuck off!” Thacker says, snorting, then puts his drink down, folds his hands on the table and puts on his _lecture_ voice. “Gay people, or homosexuals, or whatever slur of the week you’d -,”

“I know what gay people are,” Barclay replies, cutting him off. He shakes his head with a little huff of laughter. “I’ve spent a while here on earth, thanks.” He’s holding his glass with both hands, even though just one of his palms engulfs it completely. His face is a little flushed from the alcohol, the sun bleached ends of his short, wavy hair burn deep auburn in the yellow light, and he’s rapidly gaining a 5 o’clock shadow. Mama itches to draw him - the lines of his neck, the fan of his eyelashes. He’s _pretty,_ or handsome, or whatever you’d like to call it. 

Yeah, she _definitely_ shouldn’t be drinking right now. She takes another sip.

“But are there any on Sylvain?” Mama asks. “Any lesbians? Bisexuals? I need to know my chances at shackin’ up with a sexy ghost lady.”

“You ain’t fuckin’ a ghost,” Thacker says, “We’ve been over this.”

Mama points at him and raises an eyebrow, grinning. “I can, I will, and more importantly, you can’t stop me.”

“We don’t really… adhere to labels,” Barclay says, cutting off the argument before it can begin. “It’s not really something we focus on? You end up with whoever you end up with. Gender isn’t a whole _thing_ there like it is on earth. There’s no gender roles or _dress codes_ or - or anything like that.”

“Here’s to that,” Mama says, raising her glass. “If either of y’all ever see me in a dress just take me out back and Old Yeller me.”

Thacker scoffs into his drink. “Tasteless.”

She smacks him on one skinny thigh. “Oh, grow up.”

“Old Yeller?” Barclay asks, his dark eyebrows raising, wrinkling his forehead.

“It’s a book,” Thacker tells him.

“There's a dog,” Mama starts. “And they -,”

“Well don’t spoil it!” Thacker interrupts. 

“It came out in the forties!” Mama cries. “You gonna complain ‘bout the Great Gatsby next? _Gatsby dies!_ What about Shakespeare? _So do Romeo and Juliet!”_

“Barclay damn well wasn’t on earth in the _forties,_ Mama!” Thacker yelps, almost knocking over his drink as he gesticulates to underline his point.

“He’s had time!” Mama says.

“Yes, there’s gay people on Sylvain,” Barclay says hasitly, just as Mama starts gearing up for more. “And lesbians, and bisexuals. Homosexuality abounds.”

Mama laughs. Barclay’s only been with the Pineguard for three months now, and they’re still getting used to each other - it’s easier between herself and Barclay, given that he’s currently sleeping on her fold-out couch, and nothing brings familiarity faster than constantly rubbing elbows. Thacker is also rather _abrasive_ by nature, which doesn’t help, so it’s nice that the conversation’s been going so smoothly.

“Great, so everywhere but Kepler’s got gay people,” Thacker grumbles. “Maybe I should start lookin’ over there for some action, eh?”

Mama smacks him in the shoulder. “There are too gays in Kepler,” she says. “I’m here, you’re here, Victoria’s a lesbian, the lady cop, uh, Pearson? She’s a butch. And the new owner of Kepler General seems pretty fey.”

“So my only option is the _grocery store man?”_ Thacker asks, derisive. Barclay laughs. Mama smiles at him, a little helplessly. It’s such a _quiet_ laugh, mostly a huff of air, nearly a giggle. Cute. 

She looks down into her glass, thinks for a moment about dumping it in the sink, and shrugs. “I ain’t never said you had _good_ options, just that there were gays in Kepler. You want options, head to the city.”

Thacker retches dramatically. _“No.”_

“The next generation's gonna have a bit of an easier time of it,” Mama says, patting him on the shoulder. “There’s a whole bumper crop of ‘em. That girl you were helpin’ just before we met’s a lesbian. So’s the older Newton kid, or transgender. Unless longingly lookin’ at clothes in the men's section at the JC Penny’s a thing all the straights are doin’ these days.”

“How do you know Juno’s a lesbian?” Thacker asks. “And the fuck were you doin’ in _JC Penny?_ Hittin’ on the perfume ladies? They don’t want your strap, Mama.”

She goes to hit him again, and he dodges, but just barely. “I was gettin’ a birthday present for my momma, shut up,” she says. “What would you know ‘bout them perfume ladies anyways? You’re a homo and you live in the woods eatin’ garbage. Maybe they’re all lookin’ for some action. As for Juno...” She clears her throat, pitching her voice high and trembling. _“My classmates have made it very clear that they don't favour my company,”_ Barclay laughs, and she continues, smiling. _“I love the forest and bein’ alone, I just don’t relate to the kids my age, we like such different things_ \- c’mon, Thacker. I said the exact same thing as a kid and I’m sure you did too.”

Thacker nods slowly. “Makes sense, I suppose.”

“Also, I ran into her and Sarah Drake quote unquote _hangin’ out_ while we were lookin’ for the abomination, very disheveled and _not_ as relaxed about the whole thing as they wanted to be.”

Thacker, who had been mid-drink, chokes and sputters on his laugh, spraying the table with rum and coke. Barclay cackles, jumping up to grab paper towels from their spot in the cabinet beneath the sink. Mama claps Thacker on the back until he stops. 

_“That doesn’t help,”_ he hisses at her, swatting her hand away and kicking at her chair leg. “It just _hurts,_ you ass.” He tracks her less than subtle glance over at Barclay, who has now bent over in his rather tight jeans to open the cabinet, and hits her again. “Stop!” he whispers.

“I can’t help it!” she whispers back, fending him off. “You think he’s sexy too, don’t hop up my ass! I’m _never_ like this about men, you leave me alone -,”

 _“You can’t fuck bigfoot,”_ Thacker whispers urgently, grabbing her by the shoulders and gently shaking her. “I will _kill you,_ it ain’t happenin’ -,”

“He’s prob’ly gay anways!” Mama whispers, peeling his hands off and pinning them to the table. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with _lookin’,_ Arlo!”

“Alright, break it up,” Barclay says, chuckling, standing in front of them with a wad of paper towels in his hands. “Y’all are like children, I swear -,”

“Hold up,” Mama says, feeling herself start to grin.

“Did you just say _y’all_?!” Thacker asks, gleeful. A wicked sort of smile overtakes his face.

Barclay sucks a breath in through his teeth and quickly starts to wipe up the table. “I most definitely did not,” he says. 

“Oh yes you did!” Mama cackles. “We’re convertin’ ya! You’ll be soundin’ like a Kepler native in no time!”

“You are _not,”_ Barclay says, “And even if you _were,_ it would hardly be my fault, I don’t talk to anybody else and you two have an accent that’s _thicker than mud -,”_

“It’s a sexy-ass accent!” Thacker declares. “You should be so lucky to sound like this, champ.”

“It is _not_ a sexy accent,” Barclay says, laughing, gently lobbing a balled up paper towel at his chest, which Thacker catches with ease. “You sound like you’ve got a wet sock in your mouth.”

“You wound us,” Mama tells him. “Get some taste.”

“You’ve been all over this country, right? What’s the sexiest accent?” Thacker asks, leaning forward with interest. He tosses the paper towel at Mama’s wastebasket and overshoots it, making it hit the wall and bounce down to the floor.

Barclay goes and places his used paper towels into the garbage can, picking up Thacker’s failure as he does so, because he’s polite. 

“Hm,” he says, pausing for a moment with his hands on his hips. “I’m not sure.”

“I _gotta_ know,” Mama says. “You insult our _beautiful_ dialect and then won’t tell us what’s beatin’ us out for the title of sexiest? That’s _cold.”_

Barclay walks back over and sits down, visibly thinking. “I mean, the Bostonian’s not bad -,”

“Don’t do yours,” Thacker says, pointing at her, “It ain’t even _Boston,_ I dunno what the fuck you’d call it -,”

“A mistake?” she supplies helpfully. Barclay laughs, and Thacker rolls his eyes.

“I’m cuttin’ you off,” he says, swiping her drink from her hands. “‘Else you will start sayin’ shit like _pahk the cahr in Hahvud Yahd_ on us.”

“Would not,” Mama says, mostly because she’s not even sure how flatten out the a’s like that. 

“Would too,” Thacker says.

“I got it,” Barclay says. _“Definitely_ New Orleans.”

“Ahh,” both Mama and Thacker say at the same time.

“Well, that’s alright,” Thacker says, rubbing his chin.

“I’d take that over Boston, yeah,” Mama says. “Fuckin’ yankees.” Barclay snorts.

“Who’d you meet in New Orleans that left such an impression?” Mama asks, resting her chin on her hand. The room isn’t spinning, but if she moves too quick it does feel a little loose around the edges, so it’s probably a good thing that Thacker stole her drink.

Barclay flushes a little darker. Mama wiggles her eyebrows at him. 

“C’mon, don’t be shy, we’re all friends here,” she says. 

“A man? A woman?” Thacker asks. “Just warnin’ ya, if you ain’t at least a little queer you can’t be in the Pineguard. We gotta kick you out. It’s in the bylaws, or somethin’.”

“That, or we both just can’t make heterosexual friends,” Mama muses. “We don’t got enough members for shit like bylaws.”

Barclay laughs, buries his face in his hands. “So there was a guy,” he starts, and Thacker whoops. 

“Shut _up!”_ Mama hisses, “I wanna hear this!”

“There was a guy,” Barclay says again, biting briefly at his thumbnail, his other hand curling around his drink. He has lovely hands - long fingered, broad palms, short, blunt nails, veins and tendons exaggerating their angles. Thacker notices her staring and steps on her foot. “We met at a bar.”

“A gay bar?” Thacker asks.

“Yeah,” Barclay says, and runs his hand through his hair. “I, uh, wound up in those sometimes. He was a drag queen. And he came up to me after his show and we just - talked. For a _good_ long while. And then he asked me if I wanted to get out of there?” Barclay bites his lip, which Mama notices Thacker glance at, and steps on _his_ foot in revenge. “Anyways, I went home with him that night and ended up living with him for three months.”

Mama wolf whistles, grabbing his shoulder to jostle him. He shakes his head, grinning sheepishly, but leans into the touch, so she lets her hand linger. “You’re that good, eh?”

“Oh, hush,” Barclay says, still smiling. “Gay folks are just like that. _Oh, you’re cute, gay, homeless, and sad? Come sleep on my couch!_ Very charitable.”

Thacker cackles. “You can say you’re talkin’ bout Mama, it’s alright.”

“Shaddup,” she says. “Remember when your roof caved in and you were gay, homeless, and sad? You were pretty happy with my _charitability_ then.”

“I noticed you didn’t say nothin’ bout how cute I am. You’re cruel,” Thacker says, pointing at her and scowling.

“‘Cause you ain’t,” she tells him. “Come back to civilization and brush your damn hair, then we’ll talk.”

Barclay laughs. “I think you’re being too harsh,” he says. “He’s not bad looking. He’s got kind of a foxy grandpa look going on there. I don’t mind it.”

Thacker goes to say something, his cheeks going pink, and then closes his mouth with a snap. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

Barclay winks at him and clicks his tongue. Mama slowly turns and looks at Thacker, who grimly drinks the rest of her pilfered rum and coke. The tips of his ears are fire engine red. 

“So you’re gay then?” Mama asks. She’s not _disappointed,_ not really, Barclay’s nice to look at and that’s all well and good, but she wasn’t exactly planning on wining and dining anybody in the next few years. She wasn’t hung up on him or anything, it’s not some kind of loss.

“Hm, no,” Barclay says. “Men are just… easier, I suppose. I dated both men and women on Sylvain, and I’ve spent time with women here too, but…” he trails off, shrugs. “Women on earth expect the man they’re with to take control, and I’m… not particularly prone to that, if you catch my meaning. Bisexual would be the label, I guess, if I had to _define_ myself.”

“Yes,” Mama says. Her mouth feels dry. “I understand. All of that. With bein’ bisexual - I, uh… I feel that way too. Just the other way ‘round.”

She and Barclay stare at each other for a moment that feels like it lasts ages. Barclay flushes again, chews on the inside of his cheek.

“I’m too big of a fag for this,” Thacker mumbles, and reaches over to grab the rum, uncapping it and knocking it back like it’s water. “I give up. Lets get wasted and talk ‘bout somethin’ that ain’t cock.”

It breaks the spell. Barclay laughs, slapping the table, and Mama gets up to grab the tiny amount of vodka she has left from its spot in the freezer, because like fuck is she drinking any more rum tonight. 

“Glass houses, Thacker! I usually talk ‘bout pussy, you’re the one typically bringin’ up all the cock talk. Go sit on the couch, you two!” she says. “Barclay, you feel like you’re a million miles away, come on into the fold. We can watch - fuck, what’s that movie we have the drinking game for?” 

“Top Gun,” Thacker supplies helpfully, getting up from his chair, cracking his back. “You seen that one, champ?”

“No,” Barclay replies, swiping the rest of the coca-cola from the table and walking towards the couch. He sits on one end, Thacker on the other after he pops in the VHS and turns her TV on.

“You’re about to see the most accidentally homoerotic movie of your life,” Mama tells him, plopping herself down between them, setting her vodka, a glass, and her almost empty jug of lemonade on the coffee table. She swings her feet up into Barclay’s lap and curls into Thacker’s side. Thacker’s boney, and Barclay looks _much_ more comfortable, but she’s not sure they’ve reached the level of friendship that invites cuddling yet. “And we’re gonna be _hammered.”_

“Can’t wait,” Barclay says, and he smiles over at her and Thacker, gentle, sweet. Mama smiles back.

Thacker presses play on the remote.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are FOREVER appreciated. i love them. also, i disagree wholehearedly with barclay. the Appalachian accent is VERY sexy and boston is Not. i'm allowed to be mean to boston because i live in new england. tell me ur #1 fave accent in the comments ksdhlhsdkfhs
> 
> you can find me on tumblr @ elfslur. unbeta'd, all typos are my own, lmk if i fucked up anywhere please. mwah.


End file.
